Light and Shadow
by Moonlit Dreaming
Summary: A collection of drabbles revolving around Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin. Helga x Salazar. Founders Era.
1. Part 1

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine!

**Note: **Hello! This is my new Founders project – a collection of Helga/Salazar drabbles. A few things first: many of these have also been published on the Founder Era blog I co-run, details of which are on my profile. Secondly, I'll be posting several drabbles per chapter because feel like devoting a chapter to just one drabble is a bit of a waste, plus the number of chapters would get silly. So without further ado – enjoy the Helga x Salazar angst/goodness!

Light and Shadow

_Disappointment_

He was dismayed and alarmed to find her crying. He was also deeply confused.

It was a cool, fair spring day. Light streamed through the windows and radiated throughout the castle's halls. Nothing untoward had happened at the meeting, either. They had all merely discussed student preferences and lessons – issues that they had gone over a hundred times before. Godric's temper had been a little fraught over talk of his precious muggle-borns, but then that was nothing new. Salazar stepped towards her warily, as if she was a wild animal who might turn and bite.

She did not cry as he had expected. Not in a manner as soft and as delicate as her nature, in any case. Her tears were full and fast-flowing, and her cheeks were blotchy. It wrenched him, but he did not know what to do or say.

Salazar did not understand. "My lady," he began, his voice unusually faltering. "What troubles you?"

He had startled her. She turned, stumbling, and rubbed at her face furiously. "Oh, Salazar! Why are you creeping about like that?"

"Merely concerned for you," he answered. "If my presence is not welcome...?"

"I would rather be alone."

He nodded, but his curiosity and slight irritation at her lack of trust drew him back. "I must know: what troubles you?"

Helga seemed to consider him for a moment. Then she said, rather plainly, "Disappointment." She hurried off before he could form an answer.

Salazar Slytherin may have been one of the cleverest men in the country, but this he could not fathom. What did a woman of beauty, intelligence and pure blood have to be disappointed about?

_Potions_

They had taught their first potions lesson together and discovered themselves to be an effective team. Helga – the last founder to join the group – had been wary about working with Salazar Slytherin, who had been nothing but dismissive and stand-offish when they first met.

He was, however, a talented potions master: precise, accurate and focused on the finer details. And she fitted perfectly alongside him, bringing creativity and an unwaveringly positive enthusiasm. To her, brewing a potion was just like preparing food. She told Salazar this as they ate by candlelight.

"Ah! You make a good point, Helga. Though I certainly hope you haven't added any flobberworm mucus to this chicken stew..."

She smiled, as he chuckled to himself. She felt her grin widening and her shoulders relaxing. Salazar's company was oddly comfortable.

"I think it was a rather successful lesson," Helga ventured.

He nodded. "And I agree. Except, of course, for that damned boy who forgot to take his cauldron off the heat!"

Helga gasped. "Oh goodness, yes!"

Salazar laughed again, apparently finding the memory of melted pewter and barely contained chaos amusing.

For a while, Helga watched him and swirled her spoon repeatedly around the bowl. It took her several minutes of this to realise that her appetite had vanished.

It was not a pleasant feeling nor, particularly, an unpleasant one: just the bare realisation that her affection for Salazar was markedly different from her affection for Godric.

_Storm_

There was something quite spectacular about standing in the Slytherin Common Room in the middle of a storm. The Black Lake was storm tossed and throwing its might at the magically enhanced windows. The long, low room alternated between light and shadow as the lanterns swayed and flickered.

Salazar stood before the fireplace, impassive.

It was winter break. The students that could afford it had returned home and the few that remained were either hunched over books in the library or skulking in their dormitories. He stood alone in the ornate room, watching waves crash against the glass and stone that would be his legacy. Not his _only_ legacy, of course.

He closed his eyes and imagined standing in the Chamber, dark and still and beautiful, forever untouched by the storm.

Then, unbidden, she crept into his mind and thoughts of the Chamber disappeared. He imagined her as he dreamed of her, her head resting softly on his shoulder and her hand reaching out for his. She was his comfort in dark times. Where was she now? He mused on this, his eyes blinking open. He knew she would not be afraid. Mere weather could not scare Helga Hufflepuff.

Maybe that was why he was both alarmed by and endeared to her. The mixture of softness and fragility and strength was more than he could understand.

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_AN: Please leave a review – I'd love to know what you think! :)_


	2. Part 2

**Note: **Hello all! More drabbles for you – sorry it took me so long to get more done. I'm sure I can come up with some excuse, like exams or coursework, but the truth is more likely linked to me being a massive procrastinator! Ah well! XD Thanks to those who reviewed last time: **TrueBeliever831**, **TamariChan**, **OhTex** and **Lena Knight**. Much appreciated!

_Baking_

Helga adored baking – she couldn't imagine her life without it. She spent hours in the Hogwarts kitchens, trying out endless new recipes for their students and then teaching them to the house elves. Presently, she was experimenting with a new recipe for blackberry tarts. The tips of her fingers and the corners of her nails had been dyed blood red by the berries.

The door opened wide; a burst of laughter and loud male conversation preceded Godric and Salazar's entrance.

Helga wiped her floury hands on her apron. She planted them on her hips. "Where have you two been?" she asked in a tone usually reserved for naughty first years – or Peeves.

They both froze and fell instantly silent. Godric blinked as though the kitchen was the last place he had expected to find Helga. "Oh."

"That is not an answer, Godric."

He and Salazar exchanged a look. They were both windswept and bedraggled, their faces red with cold. "We were in the forest looking for specimens for Godric's magical creatures class," Salazar explained. He spoke with the air of a man considering each word carefully. "And we travelled a little further than we intended to – quite a bit further."

Helga frowned at them. "How much further?"

"Do you know The Unicorn's Tail?"

"Not personally. But I gather from the name that it's an inn?"

The men shared another glance. "Well… yes," said Godric.

Helga sighed. "Did you find any specimens for your class, Godric?" She knew before she opened her mouth that he hadn't.

"Oh _look,"_ said Godric, distracting himself with the house elves who were peering up at the men in nervous awe. "And who are you?" he asked one particularly tiny female elf who squeaked and quivered at being personally addressed.

"Flossie, sir," the elf quivered. "Would sir like – like something to eat?"

Godric laughed – a booming sound that filled the room. "Of _course _I would!" he assured the elf, allowing himself to be dragged to the other side of the room.

Helga heaved a sigh and turned back to her cooking. She scarcely noticed Salazar's continued presence until she felt his breath on her cheek and she realised with a start that he was at her shoulder. "Salazar," she said, playfully admonishing him, "if you want my attention, ask for it."

"You are rather presumptuous," he answered. He took a step back and folded his arms. Helga detected an almost huffy haughtiness in his tone – more so than she usually could, anyway.

"Oh, really, Salazar!" she cried. "Was an afternoon of Godric's company – of a friend's company – that torturous to you?"

"No, no," he said. "I can't say what exactly bothers me. It's – it's – " But he failed in attempting to make his point, and Helga just laughed.

"Tell me," she asked, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Was much mead consumed this afternoon? Be honest."

"Yes!" he said. "On Godric's part at least. As for myself, barely one flagon. You_ know_ I can't stand that slop, Helga."

"You do tend to make a fuss whenever I serve it." She smiled, but quickly became serious. "Then you truly are melancholy?"

He mused on this. "No. Merely… bored."

"Bored?" Boredom was not a word in Helga Hufflepuff's vocabulary. In fact Helga, whose House was founded on hard work and perseverance, detested the word. "Come here, then," she said to the surprised Salazar, grasping him by the wrist. "You can help me cook."

"Ah – no – " Salazar hastily protested, but discovered to his dismay that Helga was unexpectedly strong. She dragged him to a bowl full of uncooked pastry and without further explanation plunged his bare hands into it. He yelped, like a wounded puppy. "That's _cold!_ And how do you know my hands are clean?"

"They always are, Salazar," she reminded him. "I expect you wore silk gloves in that grubby little inn of Godric's. Eh?"

He refused to reply.

"Come on, knead the flour into the dough – like this!" Helga frowned. "It's too wet. I think we need more flour." She grabbed a bag and poured it into the bowl, pausing suddenly to blow some in Salazar's direction.

She giggled as he blinked and spluttered. "Oh for goodness _sake,_ Helga!"

At that moment, Godric came around the corner, his arms laden with pasties, booming, "Thank you, Mossy!"

"Er, _Flossie,_ sir."

"Oh, yes. Quite." He paused, finally noticing Salazar who was up to his elbows in dough and whose face was streaked white with flour. "Oh dear, Salazar, what's happened to you?"

"Shut up!" Salazar stormed out with a petulant swish of his travelling cloak, leaving Godric baffled.

"What on earth did you do to the poor man, Helga?"

She leaned forward on her elbows, the picture of innocence. "He was helping me bake."

_Advice_

A cool spring breeze blew over the trees of the forest and whirled among the turrets of the castle. The last of the winter snow had only just thawed; the grass was still damp under Rowena and Helga's feet. They walked side by side across the tranquil grounds.

Helga spoke rapidly. "He is so brisk sometimes that I can hardly believe he has a beating heart beneath all that stone. And yet, other times, he's, well, he's positively – "

"Silky?" Rowena ventured, an eyebrow arched.

Helga dissolved into a fit of giggles. "I was going for 'warm', but yes, silky. He is indeed _that_!" After her mirth had vanished, however, she lapsed into a sigh. "But honestly, Rowena, I walk into our potions classes not knowing whether I'm going to encounter a block of ice or an honest, human creature."

A long silence followed this speech. Helga stole glances at her friend, wondering what Rowena's considered verdict would tell her. With Rowena, it was inevitable that some reading between the lines would be required. "I would advise caution, Helga," she said. "Salazar is a good friend to all of us, but an undoubtedly complicated man all the same. I would – " But here Rowena hesitated. "Maintain distance," she said at last. "I think that would be wisest."

_Wise._ Helga mulled the word over in her head. She turned towards Rowena, reading the tiny words engraved across the diadem on her friend's head: "Wit beyond measure, is man's greatest treasure." She was not like Rowena. Her world was one of emotion, not logic. But though they were very different women, she thought she understood what Rowena was saying. Like a venomous snake, Salazar was perhaps best kept at arm's length.

Grief

He was waiting for her. Helga drifted along empty corridors, numb against the sunlight that burst through windows and the cold flagstones beneath her feet. She felt like a ghost, as light as air and just as fragile. There was a mess to be cleaned up and students to reassure, but Helga had never felt less like working in her life.

She knew he was waiting for her. Drawn to him, the only one that could understand, she reached Godric's office and pushed the door open without knocking. He looked up when she entered, but didn't move from his seat behind the desk. His face was not bloodied or even bruised. Rather it was blood_less_ – stark white against his wild red hair. "Helga – forgive me for saying this – you look dreadful."

She laughed. It was meant to be a laugh, at least, but it sounded more like a pained hiccough. "I could say the same to you," she told him, forcing the words from her choked throat. It was as if she hadn't spoken in an age. "Godric, tell me honestly, are you injured? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Huh!" He thumped the desk top with his fist. "Course not, course not, my dear. I'm as right as I'll ever be."

They both knew that this was at best an exaggeration and at worst a downright lie. While he looked a looked a little weary, Godric was mostly untouched. Mentally, however, Helga felt less sure. Banishing your greatest friend in a bitter duel had to be a scarring experience. Without another word, Helga slipped behind the desk and sank to the floor beside Godric. She leant her head on the crook of his arm. All her energy, her will to fight and recover what Hogwarts had lost, vanished. As she knelt there, Godric's hand awkwardly patting her hair, Helga let her grief escape.

Something had died today – a part of Hogwarts. Salazar was everything to her, to them all; they all meant the world to one another. But now… now he was gone, as good as dead. "There," Godric muttered, "there, there, Helga. Come on." They were meaningless words of comfort. They made the pain better, but they made it worse too. Helga wanted to laugh at the twisted irony of it all.

This was a different kind of anguish – it was the irony that Godric was not the man she had fallen for, but rather the man she should have.

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_A/N: Thanks for reading and please review if you have time! :)_


	3. Part 3

**Note:** Long overdue, as with everything I write, but here I go again! A few more Helga x Salazar drabbles! Thanks to those who reviewed last time: **OhTex**, **BookshelfAwesomeness**, **Isilarma **and **Annafiera17**. Feedback is always appreciated – and I'd love some more! :)

_Books_

The dim, sputtering candle-light threw shadows across the dungeon walls. Salazar stood in the doorway, a wordless spectator and a shadow himself, watching Helga who was sat at her desk. She leant over the yellowed pages of a thick potions book. Her fingers were smeared black with ink and in her hand she twirled a goose-feather quill.

Salazar grimaced as a fat drop of ink fell from the quill and splashed onto the page. He opened his mouth to complain – then closed it, leaving the words unspoken.

Unaware of his presence, she continued underlining words and making scrawled notes in the margin.

He coughed. She glanced up. "Oh. Hello, Salazar." She smiled at him, content in her work. "What troubles you?"

_That you're defacing a precious, years old text?_ But the words would not form themselves and he shook his head. "Nothing troubles me."

In the delicate candle-light her hair glowed in wisps of gold.

Salazar shook his head again, hard. Silly thoughts. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Writing notes for our next lesson. I thought we could demonstrate the brewing of Veritaserum. What do you think?"

_Colourless, odourless and a bringer of complete, unflinching honesty. _It made the hairs on Salazar's neck prickle. "A fine idea, my lady," was what he said.

The smile never moved from her face as she returned to her book.

_First Impressions_

Noise and heat and smoke mingled in the air. The Green Dragon was as cramped a tavern as you could imagine. Men were often forced to stoop beneath the low-ceilings, but they proved no problem for Helga. She weaved amongst crooked tables and mismatched chairs with a big bowl of beef stew in one hand and a flagon of ale in the other.

A grey haired warlock smashed his empty tankard down on the table. "More mead, Helga!"

"Got anymore o' them rock cakes?" someone called.

She played the role of landlady well, with nods and smiles and laughter in abundance. Her fair hair was tied up into a loose braid that swished with every step. She ducked behind the bar and sent her serving boy, Alwyn, into the kitchen to fetch fresh food. "Think there'll be trouble, ma'am," he said, as he returned with bowls of broth and mounds of cake. "Between them goblins and the warlocks. The warlocks are spoiling for it and you know what goblins are like."

"I do. I'll be sure to watch them." She pointed. "You'd best start washing those dishes; looks like we'll need them."

The Green Dragon was no stranger to brawls. On many mornings Helga found herself wiping blood off the floor or righting upturned chairs and tables. She was watching a group of goblins in the corner when the door burst open. Helga stared. "Godric Gryffindor," she muttered. The shaggy haired traveller had been the _cause_ of a brawl the last time he visited – but this time he was not alone. A few steps behind him walked a slight, pale woman Helga had never seen before. At first glance she seemed plain enough, until Helga noticed the silver headdress glittering beneath the hood of her cloak. "This is Rowena Ravenclaw," Godric explained, "a good friend of mine."

Rowena Ravenclaw smiled in greeting, but her blue eyes were distant and somehow startling. "We were a group of three," Godric said. "But I don't where Salazar's got to."

"Salazar?"

"Slytherin." A man in a long black cloak had slipped inside unnoticed. "And I was dealing with the horses, Godric. One of which is yours', remember?" He turned to Helga. His eyes were a pale grey and his hair was as dark as his robe. "Are you this fabled landlady Godric has told us about?"

Helga laughed. "Fabled? But yes, I am indeed the landlady. Helga Hufflepuff."

He took her hand and kissed it. His touch was gentle enough, but something about him made Helga's chest tighten. She let her hand drop to back to her side. "What brings you back this way, Godric?" she asked. "And seeking _me_, of all people."

Godric's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Come now, Helga. Surely talk can wait? We've had a long journey and your inn smells so inviting."

Helga sighed. _Flatterer._ "Go on through to the parlour. I'll join you shortly." She smiled. "There's beef stew."

Godric clasped his hands together in delight, but the man in the black cloak did not look impressed. "Do you not like beef stew, good sir?" she asked, raising her chin so that her eyes met his.

He coughed. "I had hoped for something a little…"

"More refined?" Helga suggested. "Well, there are rock cakes too, sir, but I don't imagine those will be much to your liking either."

She fought to keep her eyes still and her expression steady because the look he gave her was surely filled with loathing. But then Godric's booming laughter rang in her ears and Salazar Slytherin nodded stiffly. "Your food sounds lovely, my lady," he told her in a tone that suggested the opposite. She would have to keep an eye on that one.

_Dance_

It started one winter. A band musicians found their way through the snow to the school and offered to play. They'd heard of the great castle, home to the newly founded wizarding school and had come seeking it. Godric claimed he loved nothing better than music, while Salazar jested that what he_ really_ liked was a bawdy song and a fast-paced and silly dance.

The musicians stayed and an impromptu dance was held in the Great Hall. Rowena was too reserved and Godric too clumsy, despite his enthusiasm. So it fell to Salazar, the refined pureblood, and Helga, the once-landlady, to show their students how it was done. They pressed close together, he in green velvet dress robes and she in plain woollen ones. They made an odd pair, but soon the stifled laughter died away as they moved smoothly across the floor.

It was a clear winter night, once the snow had cleared, and the stars above the enchanted ceiling seemed as if they were in touching distance.

"Something faster," Godric called and the flutes and drums picked up speed. Suddenly the dance floor was full of movement. The original pair were lost in a whirl of laughter and celebration, unnoticed. When the dance ended and they parted, someone would surely have noted a strange look on Salazar's Slytherin's face. Sadness, maybe, or embarrassment or realisation. But no one was looking. Whatever it was, it went the way of most little things – forgotten.

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_Thanks for reading and please review!_


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